Oceanus

A science fiction mystery thriller that re-imagines Shakespeare's The Tempest.

Oceanus was released on 6th September 2024.

1

November 2311

Born on Mars in the year 2290, Balthazar Swaine had the good fortune of growing up on a world greatly accustomed to space travel. His father, a mechanic for the Arden Space Corporation, was given accommodation and work on the bleak, sparsely populated planet in 2289. Having received no better offers on Earth, he took the job and raised his family offworld. Hamza Swaine was one of the first of many working class men to do so and through his career, had made many friends in high places on the back of his hard work and hard earned respect. Unlike his father before him, Balthazar had never been a particularly bright boy but he had made his father somewhat proud by joining the Starline cruiser, Demeter, as a cabin steward. Balthazar was short, infuriatingly slow-witted and unassuming but he showed promise. That was at least, according to the character reference written by a good friend of his father, Admiral James Winter. As the young man lacked many of the skills or personal characteristics required for almost any other occupation in the new worlds, Balthazar’s parents were relieved to see him in paid employment. As for working hard, everyone who knew him felt that the young Mr Swaine had much farther to go.

It was probably considered gravely unlucky then that it should be Balthazar, the most overlooked man in all the galaxy, who was left to man the S.S Demeter alone on the morning of November 1st, 2311.

Fumbling through a manual for the communications systems on the bridge, he broke out into a sweat, flicking back and forth through pages and pages of a language he could barely read. The manual was written in the seven main languages of Earth: English, Spanish, Japanese, Mandarin, Hindi, Arabic and Bengali, however, it wasn’t the language in particular that was troubling Balthazar. It was the fact that he felt he was being watched.

Finally, in an ‘ah-ha’ moment, Balthazar found the section that he was looking for. He then searched the panel in front of him and flipped a switch that said “LOG” above it. A red light flashed and the screen in front of him started recording through a front facing camera. He started to speak into the microphone with heavy breath.

“This is Cabin Attendant Swaine of the Star Ship Demeter and it is 20:22 Earth time. I know that the ship’s log isn't really my duty but there’s no one else here.” Swain took a swig of a bottle he had found earlier and pressed the record button again.

“Where do I start?

We were on a diplomatic voyage to visit the colonies of the Rimar and New Botswana and we have not arrived. I don’t think we will ever get there.” He looked anxiously over his shoulder as though he had heard something. Seeing that the bridge was empty, he continued.

“How do I explain this without it sounding highly suspicious? I can’t! This makes no sense but fuck it, I might not live to hear it again.” He took another gulp from the glass bottle. Balthazar knew that anyone watching would see ‘that fat little idiot from housekeeping’ and wouldn’t believe him anyway; he had to try.

“The ship is deserted. I am sorry to say that I must have been asleep during what I can only describe as a strange occurrence. On finding that there was absolutely nobody on board according to the computer system, I personally searched some decks. There was no one in the captain’s meeting rooms or his quarters. The XO is gone, as well.” The workstations behind him were empty. The only things moving were the various scanners and lights, digits on the screens and the ship as it floated helplessly in orbit of the unknown planet below. He focused on the flickering red light of the recording.

“How I slept through all of this, I don’t know and I don’t remember it so stick with me.” He rubbed his temples and leaned closer to the camera.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Cups of tea and coffee are half drunk, there are playing cards laid out still on the tables in the rec rooms. It’s like the crew have vanished into thin air.” He adjusted his tie and swallowed.

There was another pause. Swaine looked over his shoulder once more. The bridge remained–to his knowledge–empty. The windows revealed nothing but the vacuum of space outside. He shook his head and faced the camera again.

“Anyway, what I mean to say is that things are weird here and I can’t really tell you what’s happened. The Demeter is stuck here until further notice.

I don't know if this is some kind of sick joke or bad dream but I'm scared.” He leaned back and gulped air this time. “There’s something on this ship with me. I can’t see it and haven’t been able to trap it but I know it’s there.”

He held his breath for a moment. The only sound in the room was the heavy thumping of his heart which seemed to have crawled into the back of his throat, intent on choking him. Swaine’s hands trembled and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“You should also know that the diplomat in my charge was Owen Brennus, the governor of Atlantis and New Botswana’s only hope of successful talks with the Rimar. I had one job and that was to keep Mr Brennus safe, fed, rested and occupied. It seems that I fell asleep on duty and I’ve lost him. For this, I am deeply sorry. I probably shouldn’t have told you that but there’s a chance that I’m going to die out here anyway. Dad, if you’re watching this, I’m really sorry.” He turned the recording off.

He stood as though to leave and quickly raised his finger, remembering something important. He dropped into the chair with a thump and turned the record button back on.

“I'm alone except for whatever this stowaway is. I'm scared. All right, I’m a bit tipsy too. Even the cat’s gone. Christ, you don’t think it ate the cat do you?” He began to cry in a drunken stupor.

“I’ve sent out a distress call and left it on loop. We were due to arrive at New Botswana by twenty-one hundred earth time on the 31st October, 2311. This gives me some hope that rescue crews on the Athena or the Artemis might come and look for us. Of course, this will only happen if war doesn’t break out before that.”

There was a clatter from somewhere inside the vents above him. Swaine didn’t seem to notice it and kept talking.

“In the meantime, I need to try and find the access codes for the surveillance and scanners and see if they can tell me what has happened. To any crew who may be watching this, forgive me but I had to look everywhere for them. Trust me, I’d much rather be changing beds than searching through your cabins. End recording.” he switched the recording off and stood up.

He flipped the switch once more and stood up. On exiting the bridge he decided that he would lay out some traps to be safe. Something told him that his stowaway was bigger than a cat.

2

The sun shone with the illusion of a summer’s day on a crisp November morning. Although it was a winter sun and lay too low in the icy blue sky, it gave generously with what little morning light it had, bestowing it on the black loch below.

The white mist on the loch had risen to reveal a wooden dock, a small wooden row boat and a fisherman’s sandstone cottage on the shore. Surrounding the cottage in a protective huddle were a mass of deciduous trees laced with hues of gold, red, green and brown.

Sitting on the edge of the dock with her long white feet submerged into the dark water was a young woman with hair as red as the leaves on the trees. She was enjoying the apricity of the sunshine and gently swirling the water with one foot as the ebony waves lapped against the posts. In another time, the girl could have been mistaken for a naiad.

Most days, she liked to have an early morning swim in the loch. There were some mornings where she preferred to just dip a toe in, or a foot or both feet. However it happened, a jolt of cold water and fresh air was what was needed to wake her up properly after a night of vivid dreams.

The silence was soothing. Only the quiet, cool rush of air or the faint singing of birds could be heard in the distance until there was an unexpected clap of thunder and a flash of lightning.

“Thea!” called a man’s voice from the cottage. “Thea, come inside now.”

The girl stood up and immediately ran to the cottage with the swift grace of a gazelle.

“What is it, Father?”

“There’s a storm coming and I don’t want you to get caught up in it,” he said, closing the door behind her. Her father was Derrien Victor Smith; he was a tall, gruff looking man. He had once told his daughter that his name was Greek for “prosperous” or “great.” Sometimes, she felt that the man standing before her was everything but prosperous or great. He had deep lines across his brow and weatherbeaten skin from years of outside toil. His sun-bleached, threadbare shirt was missing buttons at the collar and heavily creased. The cloak that he wore any time he ventured outside looked tattered and moth-eaten and it smelled worse than a dead dog on a pavement in the height of summer. She studied him for a moment while he busied himself striking matches and lighting beeswax candles around the room, aided sporadically by flashes of lightning.

The sky outside blackened and with its enormous shadow, suspended itself over the loch and the cottage. The girl, her porcelain face fixed, watched from the window.

“What a strange storm,” she observed.

The sudden downpour of rain was pelting against the window. Thea tried to peer out into the blackened abyss.

When she could make out the outline of the darkened sky, bright, blinding sparks flashed to reveal a series of what at first seemed like shooting stars. They left trails of white smoke behind them as they floated down into the atmosphere with the grace of dandelion seeds blown by the wind. The shapes scattered and seemed to land in various locations across the island.

The waves were crashing against the dock now as the wind and rain competed to see who could wreak the most havoc. She stood there, still, huddled, watching the storm in controlled awe like a child at a formal gathering.

“Father, what are those things in the sky?” she asked, pointing to the shapes as they fell one by one.

“Thea, do you remember when we first came here? It was during a storm like this.”

“I was a child. I , wasn’t I? I barely remember.”

“What you’re seeing before you is something that’s going to put it all right. Did you know that your father was once a great man? A world-leading scientist?”

His daughter looked him up and down, tilting her head in bemusement. “Are you not my father?” she asked.

“Oh I am, dear girl. I was always your father. Your mother was a goddess among women. We lived happily in a grand house with our own staff, you know.”

“Why did we come here, then? Why do we now wear rags?” She glanced at her own tattered dress that she had made herself out of discarded canvas.

“Foul play. There were those who sought to destroy me and banish me from their sight.” His features darkened as he fixed his stare on the window.

“And I, too?” Thea asked, tearing him from his daydream.

“They tried to take you from me. Your mother had perished and you would only sleep if I was with you, so I brought you everywhere with me. The shuttle that we were on was sabotaged. You were always meant to be with me.”

“Do you know who sought to destroy you, father?” She looked at the old man in wonder.

“Aye. My wretched brother and his minions.”

Another bolt of lightning hit the loch. Thea looked out once more.

She had not known what she had seen until one of the stars was headed in her direction. It was then that she realised they had not been stars but they were in fact shuttles. One particular shuttle was hurtling toward her and crashed into the loch.

“Father, what have you done?”

“Only what I needed to do. No one will be harmed. I promise.”

“The men on that shuttle will.” She pointed to the sinking grey object in the middle of the loch.

A pang of panic set in at this point as he felt his daughter’s judgement. The old man paused for a moment. “Thea, go and save those men in the loch.”

“Very well, father.”

She left the house and ran back to the dock.

At first, the waves were too high for her to capture sight of the shuttle clearly. Only when they started to subside did she see that it had started to sink. The water glugged greedily, pulling the helpless vessel down into the black depths. A break in the clouds brought with it a small beam of light that revealed a grey bow still visible for a few more seconds until the loch consumed that too.

What felt like hours later, there was a splash and a gasp for air coming from the middle of the loch.

Thea, without hesitation, dived in and swam to the origin of the movement, cutting through the wind's currents as best she could in her heavy clothes. She found a body vigorously thrashing and flailing and dragged it to the surface with all of her strength, kicking her legs furiously.

She had rescued a young man, and in the darkness she could not tell if he was or wasn’t breathing. She swam on her back, holding him so that his face was turned upward toward the sky. When she reached the shore of the loch she heaved him onto his front. He spluttered water and gasped for more air, coughing and retching into the sand. His fingernails were filthy from clutching the earth as he scrambled to his hands and knees. His face was red and he was coughing profusely. She placed her hand on his shoulder and helped him to sit down.

He looked at her blankly, paused for a moment and turned away to vomit into a nearby shrub. He then fainted, landing with a thud onto the ground beneath him. The rain was lessening now and the light was returning to the loch.

As the young woman stood over the unconscious survivor, she studied his uniform. It was a fine royal blue jacket over royal blue trousers. His boots were black and although sodden, seemed new. On his left breast he wore a gold pin badge. It was a symbol that she did not recognise. The gold trim of his jacket and trousers suggested that he was someone of importance. She observed how unusual the boy looked compared with the other people she had known on the island. She had never seen anyone dressed like that.

Thea hadn’t noticed that it had stopped thundering or that the sky was clear again. As though on cue, thick clouds parted, opening up like a stage curtain; the birds returned to their songs and the loch was as still as it had been before the crash.

“Thea!” Her father was approaching.

She looked back at the gentleman she had rescued. He was still unconscious. “Thea! Are they alive?” asked Derrien with growing concern. He was wearing the old, stinking cloak over his peasant clothing now. In contrast to the boy, her father’s boots were torn and full of holes, talking as he walked. For the first time in her life, she felt embarrassed to look upon him.

“There was only one,” she said, glancing back at the half drowned boy and then at the sky. “The storm… it’s gone.”

“How peculiar,” her father agreed. “Let’s get him inside.”

“Is this your brother?”

“No, my child. Far too young. Come, let’s get this poor wretch inside.”

3

“I could kill that steward,” Anthony Victor Smith barked as he wrestled with vines and ferns.

“What steward?” asked Seb. Seb Mariner was the security assistant of the Atlantean governor. He was a tall, thin man with hawkish features and a crop of black hair sat atop his long, gaunt face.

“That crewman who told me to get into the shuttle. What a bastard.”

“Was there? I don’t recall a steward?”

“Yes, there was a housekeeping steward. Told me to get into the shuttle. Spoke to me like I was his inferior,” he hissed.

“I don’t recall, sir. The crash is still a blur for me.”

“And me,” added Ade, the ship’s doctor.

“Yes, all right” Anthony waved his hand as though shooing flies. “I barely remember it either. I just recall that bloody twit for some reason. He must have been out of line. I should have him sent to a penal colony,” he grumbled. “Anyway, where the hell are we?” Anthony was a hot headed, olive-skinned man in his fifties. He was an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and never without a sneer. Staff remarked that he looked more like a mafia boss than a scientific adviser but looks could be deceiving. He seemed to have earned the trust of the governor in spite of all his apparent flaws.

Seb responded with a sigh. “No idea, sir.”

“Comms signals?” asked Anthony, the irritation in his voice growing.

“None sir. There is either no reception or our signals are being blocked.” Ade, as the ship’s doctor, was carrying the emergency kit with flares, medication and a Personal Locator Beacon. The PLB was unresponsive. “It’s not ideal.”

“The Rimar?” Anthony turned to Trin Rowan this time. Trin was the scientific adviser’s assistant and hoped that she would one day herself become a scientific adviser to a colony. She was a small, young woman with short, blonde curly hair and a well freckled, friendly, welcoming face.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head and aimed her scanner out at the surrounding flora again. “We have no idea who is behind this, sir. We’re on a planet that appears to be perfectly habitable but doesn’t appear on our records as a terraformed world. This jungle is… well look at it.” They each observed the dense foliage and the established roots underfoot, hearing various sounds belonging to wildlife. “There is humidity in the air and quite obviously an ecosystem which is impressive but…there are no recognisable landmarks. We’re lost,” Trin remarked. “I keep thinking that I’m in some sort of dream. I wouldn’t have imagined this would happen in a million years but here we are! What an opportunity!” Her enthusiasm was not catching on.

Anthony was growing impatient and was in no mood for Trin’s optimism. He waved his hand again in annoyance, “Tell me, Seb, do you have any ideas?” he asked, turning to look at Owen’s assistant. Seb was gone. “Seb?” he demanded. His voice travelled nowhere in the dense jungle.

“Come back at once! You can’t pull stunts like this out here,” he called, his voice catching the impending fear. No one responded. As though a switch had flicked off, there was a sudden onset of silence. It deepened, sending tingles through Anthony’s limbs. A chilling wind rubbed against his ears, followed by the stiffening of the hairs on the back of his neck. He surrendered to the rush of blood rising into his mouth, thudding through his throat. Anthony turned to look in the direction of some ferns that were rustling. “Seb?”

Out from behind the ferns, he was ambushed by an enormous beast. Anthony froze. Run. Run! he thought, but his trembling legs wouldn’t move. Finally, as the creature lunged toward him, he rolled away, scrambled up and produced the first stick that he could clutch. Seeing only teeth and fur and feeling his life flash before his eyes, he thwacked the beast down while it was mid-lunge and he collapsed with a yowl onto the floor, limbs shaking. Knowing that his strike would have only aggravated his predator, he looked up to meet death. To his surprise, there was nothing there.

“Anthony? Where are you?” It was Owen Brennus, the governor. With him were Trin, Seb and Ade. On seeing Anthony on the ground and now in the foetal position, Owen asked, “What happened to you?”

“You all disappeared! Then there was this bloody tiger thing!” His heart raced to a point where he felt it would overdo it. He tried desperately to steady his breath.

“Tiger?” asked Owen, his brow raised.

“A bloody tiger! It was monstrous. A prehistoric one!”

They all looked around to see if there were any paw prints or claw marks nearby. “Sir, there’s nothing here. Are you sure?” asked Trin.

“No, I’m just lying on the floor because I’m tired, Trin,” he said sarcastically with a sneer.

Unconvinced but nonetheless concerned, Owen helped him to his feet. “It’s a strange place, I know. I didn’t see what you saw but I have seen things, too.” He patted Anthony on the shoulder with a large, strong hand. Owen was himself an imposing figure. Standing at six feet and seven inches tall with a dark, brooding countenance, Owen could make his presence known in any situation.

“Like what?” Anthony asked.

“Well, you disappeared for a start!” Owen’s eyes were smiling now.

“Did I? You disappeared from me more like.” Anthony cringed at his own accusatory tone. He respected his governor and tried his utmost never to reveal his temper to him.

“There was this grassy wall that appeared all of a sudden and then when we heard you screaming, it went “poof” just like that,” said Trin in an animated fashion. “We’re definitely seeing things.”

“I have seen Geraint. He appears to me and vanishes again. He doesn’t speak. He looks well.” Owen’s voice trailed off. “He looks well…”

Anthony watched Owen’s eyes lower. “Lord governor,” he began. “I’m sure he is safe and well.”

Owen said nothing but nodded with a rueful grin. “Anyway,” he said, snapping out of it. “We must press on if we are ever to find the way through.” He pointed north and began walking. The party followed in silence.

“I don’t believe this.” Anthony remarked. He stamped his foot in a rage. They had arrived back where they were just hours before. The team of survivors, exhausted and hungry, looked around with mixed expressions of dismay and frustration.

“We can set up camp for tonight. That’s all we can do.” Owen said with a defeated shrug.

As the darkness started to set in and the other members of the team took it in turns to sleep, Anthony Victor Smith sat up, alert. As a man who had been highly revered for anticipating every scenario possible in every possible context, his skills had left him forever suspicious of his surroundings. On this particular night, Anthony sensed that they were not alone.

4

As well as a fisherman's cottage and a black loch, there was also a woodsman's hut near the centre of the island. As Derrien Victor Smith approached the hut, he saw that a young man with long, braided black hair was chopping logs in front of the hut. His shirtless, bare skin was tanned and red from hours in the sun. He was hunched over and sweating.

“Jet,” called Derrien to the man. “I need some more firewood, please.”

“It’s there.” The young man said nonchalantly, pointing to a pile of chopped firewood that was right next to where Derrien was standing. He did not look up from his work. Sensing that the young man was in no mood for conversation, Derrien hung there, twiddling his fingers.

“The weather is quite good this week, isn’t it?”

The young man shrugged and continued with his work. Derrien, not wanting to give up just yet, tried again. “Jet, can’t we talk?” he asked.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Jet seemed heavily inconvenienced by the presence of his landlord.

“Please, Jet,” pleaded the old man. “I’ve only ever wanted to be your friend.”

Friend. The word infuriated Jet. He looked up and straightened, adopting an intimidating stance, his axe resting over his shoulder. Derrien felt himself shrink away.

“Friends?” he looked down at Derrien, disgusted.

“Friends, Jet. Every day I am sorry about what has come between us.”

“You can’t even speak her name.” The fury was building in the young man’s face.

“She was evil, Jet,” Derrien said quietly.

“She was my mother!” he roared, approaching his aggravator.

“Just read the journals, Jet.” Derrien began to back away. “You’ll see why I had to do it. Then you could talk to me–”

“Talk to you?” Jet was incandescent with fury. He threw his axe into the X on the ground with alarming accuracy. “I will never, ever talk to my mother’s murderer.” He turned to face Derrien, “You are scum. You are a plague on Oceanus- my island! It was hers and now it is mine. You come here and you take what isn’t yours.” Jet’s voice grew impassioned and emotional as he pointed at Derrien, forcing him to walk backwards. “This was nothing to do with you. She took you in, let you learn our ways and now you prance around here like you own the place. I hate you. I hate you.” Jet tried to lunge but just as he did, he caught himself and held his head, crying out in pain.

“Please, Jet, don’t do this-” Derrien begged.

“What have you done to me?” Jet cried. He was crippled with agony.

“Jet” Derrien pleaded. “Just calm down, Jet”

“Get away from me! Take your firewood and leave.” Jet spat at Derrien’s feet and ran off into the woods.

Derrien returned to the cottage to find the other young man on the island still asleep on a makeshift bed under the window. He was tossing and turning in his sleep.

“Thea,” whispered Derrien, looking over to the kitchen. Thea came floating into the room.

“He is alive, father. That crash must have really distressed him.” She looked down at the sleeping guest.

“Do you know his name yet?”

“I don’t. He hasn’t really come to. He opens his eyes every now and then but he hasn’t said anything and doesn’t respond when I speak to him.”

“He nearly drowned, I suppose,” Derrien shrugged. He thought of the other survivors, scattered on the island. What a mess, he thought, looking at the boy. I could have killed him.

“I am glad,” said Derrien sadly. “I must go and do some work now. I will be back in the morning. Do not answer the door to anyone.”

“Of course, father.”

---

Journal of D Victor Smith November 1, 2311

Subject REL and I seem to be merged. Some sort of symbiosis. Today at the hut, the boy tried to strike me and was paralysed by what could have been a headache? He wouldn’t say. He was in great pain but couldn’t hurt me. Somehow, REL can control the weather. I have no way of proving this as yet but I think REL can control Jet too. Perhaps it can block others– I don’t know.

Whatever Lennox did with REL, it had the opposite effect of what happened with me. I wonder if it is genetic, psychic, or luck? Why scramble her brain but share everything with mine? Must investigate further. REL seems calm and accepting of my presence. The creature has suffered greatly.

The other boy is a concern. Have yet to learn where he fits. He is in Althea’s charge for now but they will be looking for him. I must be ready.

It’s a science fiction mystery thriller inspired by Shakespeare’s The Tempest. The stricken SS Demeter floats helplessly in orbit around a mysterious planet. The crew have evacuated, leaving behind a single crew member. Survivors on the planet find themselves separated and forced to face the substance of their own dreams and nightmares. They don’t know why they’re there or what happened; unbeknownst to them, they are being watched.

Oceanus is a futuristic thriller inspired by William Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

If anyone is to find their way back home, the truth must be revealed.
’Oceanus by Hanna Delaney is a gripping and provocative read that will captivate fans of psychological thrillers, science fiction, and philosophical explorations of human nature, particularly those who enjoy complex characters, moral dilemmas, and the intersection of technology and humanity.’— Storygraph, 2024.

Oceanus tells a classic story of betrayal, forgiveness, love and deception. A suspenseful adventure story set in the 24th century.